


Dick Grayson, age dead.

by xama



Series: There Can be Only Some [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Like it is only temporary, Minor Character Death, Off-screen Character Death, Should it be Major Character Death?, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:57:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6445612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xama/pseuds/xama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rickert Grayson was a lot of things. He was a good son. He was a master acrobat, a competent knife-thrower, and, unfortunately, illiterate. He was Romani, and 19 years old. He was murdered, along with his entire family, three hours ago.<br/>He was also, at this moment, very much not dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The location is the Holy Roman Empire, specifically the Bohemian (Czech) countryside. The year is 1545, and the Diet of Augsburg has just declared that "whoever kills a Gypsy, will be guilty of no murder."

Rickert Grayson was a lot of things. He was a good son. He was a master acrobat, a competent knife-thrower, and, unfortunately, illiterate. He was Romani, and 19 years old. He was murdered, along with his entire family, three hours ago.

He was also, at this moment, very much not dead.

A week and several encounters with murderous, bigoted, and superstitious villagers later, and Rickert was still not dead. He‘d neither burned nor drowned, he wasn‘t even bruised! He might have been confused, if he could think past the recent loss of his parents.

Nonetheless, he accepted it when he was brought to the edge of the village, and ordered to never return. Not that he‘d want to, of course.

Three months past his ‘exile’ (not that his family had even lived in the village), and Rickert was still very much alive, though emaciated. He was also, not for the first time in recent months, completely and utterly baffled. The most recent reason for his bafflement was not his alarming ability to stay alive, but rather a pale, elderly man, riding a horse straight in his direction.

He briefly debated whether or not to run, but in the end decided that the effort was futile. The man, or rather the horse, was faster than Rickert, and could easily catch him up if he fled. He had a better chance of defending himself, or at least not dying (death was still painful, if only temporary) if he stood his ground.

When he was a few feet away, the man got off his horse, and introduced himself as an Englishman, apparently a butler-turned-traveler. He told him that they were both immortal, which Rickert would have found unbelievable, had he not already died a score of times. What could he do, but go with this ‘Pennyworth’, who seemed to have so many answers?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Dick is about the same age as Conner Macleod, maybe a little younger, but when you're counting in centuries it doesn't really matter. I'll probably write one or two more chapters of this, and I'll definitely add more to the series. This is mainly an introduction, everything else will be longer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alfred and Rickert train, travel, & chat.

“But if all Immortals respect holy ground, why don't we all live there permanently?” Rickert asked, rubbing his hand after getting his sword forced out of it during training.

Alfred rubbed his chin in contemplation, before replying “Some may do just that, however, for most I suspect it would become rather boring after the first few centuries.”

Rickert hesitated a moment, before nodding. “Why are we like this, anyway?”

Alfred sighed, and replied “That is a question that I have yet to find an answer to, save that it is not a family trait.”

Rickert cocked his head, “A family trait...?”

A small smile appeared on Alfred's face, as he answered “That it isn't passed down through the blood, from parent to child, like your family's natural aptitude for acrobatics.”

Rickert frowned momentarily at the mention of his late family, and at the implication that his talent was the product of anything other than hard work and sacrifice, but his expression quickly turned to one of contemplation. “If it doesn't pass down from parent to child, that must mean that I'll outlive any children I have...”

Alfred couldn't stop a frown from appearing on his face, and sighed again.

Rickert, remembering too late that Alfred was well over four centuries old, and probably had outlived at least one child, started to apologize, but was quickly cut off by his mentor.

“There are no need for apologies, my young friend, you meant no harm. In fact, I am incapable of having children of my own, as are you. As are we all.”

Rickert grimaced in sudden understanding; “That's how you know that it doesn't run in families.”

Alfred nodded, then stood. “Enough of that, it is time to return to our lessons.”

Rickert grinned, and resumed his fighting stance.

 

* * *

  
Rickert and Alfred traveled at a leisurely pace, stopping periodically to continue training, but soon enough they were leaving the Empire behind them, and trotting along the French countryside, pointed more or less in the direction of the English channel, where they planned to cross into England.

They stopped to replenish their supplies at a small town, and Alfred sat Rickert down in the local tavern.

“Rickert, I believe it's high time that I teach you English. You would be ill-served if all you speak when we reach my homeland is Deutsch and your native tongue.”

Rickert bit his lip, and said, “May I learn to read and write, as well? I've wanted to learn for the longest time, only no one who knew would teach me, and those who would teach me didn't know how.”

Alfred smiled, and nodded in the affirmative. Rickert let out a whoop of glee.

 

* * *

  
As they stepped on to the ship, Alfred smiled at his charge. The young man certainly had a knack for languages; they'd only been at it for a month, and already he was quite proficient at both written and spoken English. Nowhere near fluent, not yet, but if he continued at this rate, he would be soon enough. The proximity to his home gladdened the former butler, as he had not been there in nearly three centuries. Not that Alfred regretted leaving, he's done many foolish things in his life, but leaving England wasn't one of them. The way he left it was rather foolish, of course; to this day he regrets joining the company of Edward, the prince who later became King, to assist French King Louis IX's crusade against the city of Tunis. If only he had left England in a different way, perhaps he would never have made it to that particular part of the globe, perhaps that particular immortal would never have been trained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I edited this chapter a bit, made some things a bit less awkward to read(I hope), and fixed some historical facts. Like, nothing really big though (I changed Syria to Tunis, and clarified that Edward wasn't in charge of the crusade). Also, said crusade is the 8th. Anyway, next chapter there'll be the introduction of a villain, possibly a quickening, and Dick.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villains plot as old friends meet again, and a mysterious knight prepares for a conflict.

Rickert stood up and stretched. Whether or not you‘re mortal, sitting in one spot for hours on end does your back no favors. He put his book away, and went to prepare tea. Five months of experience had taught him that his old mentor liked a hot cup of the leaf juice when he got back from his duties as tutor to a young boy not quite old enough for Public School.

As the water came to a boil, he felt almost nauseous. His long exposure to Alfred kept him from losing focus, but only just. As Rickert grabbed a carving knife, he chided himself for not keeping his sword with him at all times. It was foolish, he knew, but at home he just felt safe; granted, he‘d also felt safe in whatever location his family had made camp at, and had decidedly not been.

When he heard the soft voice of his mentor, Rickert relaxed, but kept the knife in his hand. When Alfred walked into the room, with no great distress on face, he let out a sigh of relief and placed the knife in its rack. When a red-haired man also entered the room, Rickert tensed again.

Though it had been a year since he‘d been taken under Alfred‘s wing, Rickert had yet to meet an unfamiliar immortal. As London was supposedly teeming with them, he suspected that Alfred was keeping them away, probably to give Rickert time to adjust.

If that was the case, Rickert mused, then his mentor must consider him ready. For life as an Immortal, for playing the Game, for-

"Rickert, are you quite alright?” Alfred asked, concern clear in voice.

Rickert blushed at letting his thoughts run away with him, and nodded.

Alfred shot his young charge a look, but let it drop. "For the second time, may I introduce my old friend, Jason Blood?”

Jason grinned toothily, and offered his hand. "It‘s always a pleasure to meet new players.”

Rickert took the proffered hand, and greeted the man; "Nice to meet you, too. You‘re only the second 'player' I've met.”

"And for good reason: the Demon‘s Head is in town, and anyone with good sense is leaving it,” Alfred informed him.

"The Demon‘s Head?”

Alfred frowned, and said "Ra‘s al Ghul, one of the younger, nastier immortals."

"Yes, barely two centuries old, and already quite a head count. Given time, he‘ll likely rival the likes of Vandal Savage, the Kurgan, or even Morgana.” Jason sighed.

As the older men lapsed into a discussion of various rogue immortals and past battles, Rickert tuned them out, and started to doze off, only coming out of it when the conversation turned back to Al Ghul.

"...It‘s still hard to believe that one man’s done all that.”

"Well, that‘s not... entirely accurate.” Jason said, looking uncomfortable.

Alfred sighed, "He‘s got himself another Ubu, hasn't he?”

"No - Well, yes, of course. But I've heard he has another hanger on, as well. Goes by the name of Ducard.”

Alfred shook his head ruefully, "Well, not entirely surprising, considering that man has an entire cult devoted to him.”

At that, Rickert tried to sit up so abruptly that he fell off of his chair.

 

* * *

  
Ra's al Ghul sat back in his seat, and sipped his tea in contemplation. This trip to London had not gone to plan; he had, of course, known that once word of arrival had spread his cowardly brethren would vacate the city faster than rats would flee a sinking ship. However, he had not expected word to spread quite as fast as it had. His mentor, Ducard, had said that it wasn‘t surprising, as apparently Ra‘s had quite a reputation, for only being around for half a century. Even with that, though, he was surprised at only feeling the presence of five other immortals.

At times, it almost seemed like Ducard was hiding something. What though, Ra‘s wasn't sure. He didn't think it was anything too serious, though. He had complete faith in the man who was almost his father.

 

* * *

 

In a small, out of the way street in London, a good sized crowd of children and beggars were gathered around a blacksmith's. They were watching a sword being sharpened. That was not usually a sight worth gawking at, however, the owner of the sword, a knight in full armored regalia, was.

Sir Justin, as that was his name, had flowing blond hair, and spoke in a very strange way. He seemed nice, and had all the manners a knight of yore should, but seemed rather tense. No, tense wasn't the right word for it. He seemed almost anticipatory, as if he was about to fight a battle he‘d been waiting for for his entire life.

 

* * *

  
"Dick! Dick! Come play with us, please!” A little boy shouted.

The man looked only mildly annoyed. "Jason, I told you. My name is Rickert.”

The boy, Jason, apologized, but didn't look at all repentant.

"Mr Grayson, will you play with us?” Another little boy. They were simply swarming today.

At this, Grayson smiled fondly. "Well, alright. But only for a moment. I don‘t have time for much more than that.”

With that, the trio started frolicking around like lambs. Fitting, for that‘s what they were.

The Demon‘s Head smirked. Soon he would kill the boy. Not yet, of course. Not without Pennyworth. Watching his pupil die would be quite a blow to the older immortal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. If there are inconsistencies, it's because I wrote the first part like 3 weeks ago. I'm too tired (and lazy) to check it right now, tomorrow maybe.  
> This was going to be the last chapter, but I couldn't work out a way to naturally put the fight scene in. So there'll be a fourth chapter. And hopefully that'll be the end of it, and I can start work on something else. Maybe the sequel.

**Author's Note:**

> So Dick is about the same age as Conner Macleod, maybe a little younger, but when you're counting in centuries it doesn't really matter. I'll probably write one or two more chapters of this, and I'll definitely add more to the series. This is mainly an introduction, everything else will be longer.


End file.
